Dear Diary . . . day by day

Saturday, November 20th, 1999 - Unable to connect

	So, I tried calling Holly several times this morning. She had given Mom and Shannon and I her number where she was staying in Greece, and she's leaving...well, she's probably left by now. But, when I woke up early this morning I decided to try calling. I even got on the web and looked up the calling code to make sure I had it right, and it still wouldn't go through. So, now I'm up too early and blue because I couldn't hear my sister's voice this morn. I'm pretty bummed about that. I'm pretty bummed these days anyway, which Corn told me is pretty obvious from this journal this week, but I can never tell. I feel like it's a pretty quiet depression. I feel like I'm just there, y'know, and if you know me well, or if there are no loud folk around, you might notice I'm not talking as much as I usually do. I just have nothing to say, really, and there's nothing I really feel like talking about. Corn and I tried to go see a movie last night, but of course we picked two movies that were opening that night (Sleepy Hollow and the new James Bond) so they were sold out. We walked around Jack London Square, darted in front of slow-moving trains, then came back here. I was boring. I really wished we hadn't missed the movies, because that's the amount of social interaction I seem to be able to carry off - sitting in the dark, being entertained. I don't like being like this, but, hey, y'know. It'll pass. Everything always changes. I bought myself a copy of The Best American Short Stories 1999 to inspire me to write. I'm still reading the foreward by Amy Tan, who edited this one. I should say something pithy or introspective about famous guest editors for anthologies... hm. It just seems to be the thing; not something I thought about before I actually tried to sell my stories. I suppose a goal could be to publish enough and become beloved enough as a writer to be asked to edit one of these things, but, hey, I really should work on the first part of that goal (which would be writing) right now. Holly pointed out to me that this journal is an acomplishment all by itself, and I supose it is, but I've always been a fan of books you can curl up with without leaving your flannel sheets, and, unless you download this onto your palm pilot, or print it out entry by entry, that's not really possible. Anyhow, I'd like to write a book, or a story in a book, that has more meat to it than a little journal entry. Still, I truly value Holly's opinion on this sort of thing - she's well educated and usually reflects my own tastes in fiction. Perhaps I should just concentrate on putting quality up here every day or so. Honestly, most of the time these are written off the cuff (that's why you get typos until David sends me errata to fix); I sweat and swear a lot more over fiction. Ok, well, I'll try to cheer up. Now, I need to try and go back to sleep so I can be well-rested for a party I'm going to tonight. I'm actually looking forward to the party: there's a good chance I'll know a lot of people or I'll know hardly anyone. Either way, it'll be a nice change.
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